


Once and Then

by QueerLeFay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble, M/M, POV First Person, POV Merlin, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerLeFay/pseuds/QueerLeFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time he told me he loved me was under the cloudy, starless night – but his eyes were rimmed red and his voice was chocked out and he gripped on my arms with his fingernails. I couldn’t find it in me to believe him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once and Then

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quickly-written drabble as the result of a sleepless night. I do not usually even like reading a first person POV stories, but well, here goes.  
> Hope you guys will give this a chance and sorry for any mistakes made!

He was who he once was. His hair shone under the sunlight and shone under the moonlight. His eyes burned brighter after every morning runs. His lips glistened red from breakfast. He still had a half-sister that wanted too much from him and a father who had too high an expectation of him.

Yet, then, he was also not who he once was. He was no longer an heir for the throne – though there was a whole different empire he would someday inherit from his father. He no longer wore his chainmail and cloak, though he wore his button-down shirts and designer suits with equal fervour. He had a half-sister that loved him fiercely and a father who gave him due care and love a parent should give.

 

When I met him, I thought he would have no need of me this time. He had an advisor in his sister. He had a friend in Leon. But he looked at me, just once, and his face lighted up as he smiled broadly, breathlessly calling my name like it was the answer to his prayers. The old hope sparked in me and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to him as he did the same for me. And once more, he had me around his fingers, twisting and turning me until I lost myself in him again.

 

Then I found that he was still lonely. As lonely as he was once, as desperate for love as he was once, and as lost for affection as he was once.

 

The old heartache was a familiar, distant hum. I had it once, a very long time ago, in a world different to this one. It was the same longing and misplaced affection, the same hopelessness. Where once I saw him sitting on his throne, nodding favours to women with satin dresses, now I saw him sitting on a barstool, winking lewdly to women with laced tops and shorts that barely passed as undergarments. He still looked at me over the top of the women’s heads, still smiled smugly as if he was raising a challenge – and if in the once, I could only smile quietly back, now I could hide my face behind my drinks. It was a small mercy.

 

Then I would go back to my flat drunk and full of old sorrow, supported by men I could not name and whose face I would forget as soon as the sun came up. They would leave soon after, smiled pleasantly and nodded goodbye. Then he would come after they left, knocking loudly on the door, angry and tired – as if he was the one having to watch the man he had wanted for so long going through one stranger after another.

 

\---

 

We met Gwen six months after he found me. She was already with Lancelot, that time, had a family together – a dog, three pups, and a baby boy, she said, beaming with joy. I watched his face carefully, waiting for the tightness around his eyes, the tell-tale crease of his eyebrows – but he showed none, only smiled pleasantly, told her to stay in contact, and that was it.

 

_Aren’t you sad? Angry?_

_Why?_

_Her and Lance –_

_They were meant to be._

_Like Morgana and Leon?_

 

He snickered.

 

_Perhaps, yes._

 

\---

 

I had a wish, perhaps, once. A wistful thinking I could do well without. In that daydream, I would imagine him and me – just being together, like we always had – but more, more than a friendship, more than anything he could offer.

 

I thought that would have been gone, or at least it would be easier now. But it was so difficult when my life was once again revolved around him. I would wake up to the sound of him cursing, kicking the books that were scattered around the floor of the flat, and then opened my bedroom door obnoxiously under the pretence of waking me up. I would spend my days around him, there for when he needed me, which seemed to be constantly. I would fall asleep after the goodnight texts he was so fond of sending. It wasn’t fair, really, wasn’t fair.

 

The tiredness came gradually, seeping through my bones like a poison. It was not a sudden process, it didn’t struck just like that – no, it burned slowly, warm to scorching hot in the span of twelve months. It could no longer be ignored, could not longer be thought off as a repercussion of the opening of an old wound. It was starting to suffocate me, leaving the gaping hole I tried to cover wide open. I could no longer hide behind the glasses of my drinks or support myself with men I did not know. I could no longer give him any genuine smile or talk to him without snapping out.

 

I was tired. So, so tired. Tired of him and his conquests. Tired of him keeping me in tow as if I was nothing more than a manservant I once was. Tired of him dismissing my opinions if they didn’t please him. Tired of the screaming matches he seemed to be so fond of. Tired of him sending me disappointed and angry glances whenever he found a stray piece of clothing that belonged to none of us. I was tired. I was exhausted.

 

So I left.

 

I left after he sent me a _goodnight, dream of the throne that once was_. I left my phone where I usually left it for the night, left a single note on the pillow, and locked the door as I usually lock it for the night.

 

\---

_Merlin._

 

_Morgana._

 

_He worries._

_I know._

_Do you?_

 

\---

_Merlin._

 

 _Morgana._  

_He does not cope very well._

 

\---

_Merlin._

_Merlin._

_Merlin. It’s been too long. He is frantic. Please, Merlin._

 

\---

 

_Merlin. He looked sick. He needs you._

 

\---

 

_Merlin._

 

_Morgana._

_Why didn’t you answer me?_

_I couldn’t._

_Yes, you could._

_I am tired._

_He refuses to leave his flat._

_You could coax him out._

 

_Please._

 ---

 

He was hunched over a book, that night. He had no lights on; his only source of light was from the window, thick curtains thrown haphazardly aside, allowing the bright, pale moonlight to come through. The shadows painted him pale, like a ghost of himself – sad and lost.

 

_Arthur._

_Merlin?_

 

He stood up, legs wobbly like he hadn’t used them for a long time. The bags under his eyes were bruising and his hair was greasy. It was not the Arthur I had known, not then and not in the _once_. He had never looked so adrift, not when he mourned his father once before, not when he had to banish his soon-to-be-wife for her infidelity, not when his half-sister tried to take his throne.

 

_Where were you?_

_Away. To the places I have always wanted to see. To rest._

_And to run away?_

He looked tired. He looked like he wanted to be angry but did not have the energy to be so. He looked defeated and tired, tired like I was – before I ran like the coward I was.

 

_Why?_

_I don’t know, Arthur._

_No, you knew._

_Arthur…_

_I love you._

It was the first time he told me he loved me. But his eyes were rimmed red and his voice was chocked out and he gripped on my arms with his fingernails. I couldn’t find it in me to believe him.

 

_No, you don’t._

 

\---

 

The flat that I kept was never made to be tidy. The large bookcase was overflowing with books, where they leaked to the floor and under the furniture of the living room. Coats, jackets, scarves, shoes, random pieces of clothing were scattered on the arms of the sofa and chairs. He liked to complain, whenever he came over to the flat, which was often – too often. But he didn’t complain then, mouth set in a grim determination, he threw open the door of the flat and dragged me out in record time.

 

We sat down at the park, relishing the warmness of the long-awaited sun. He did not talk much, but he kept a hand over mine, keeping me where he wanted me to be.

 

_We never did this, once._

_No, but you did go to picnics with the women you wanted to woo._

_That’s right._

_Arthur…_

_I didn’t like them once, I still don’t like them._

_What are you on about?_

_Them. Those women._

_You did, though. Do._

_No._

 

_No? But at the bars…_

_Once, a long time ago, I had this obligation, if you remember. I could not do what I wanted; I could not be with whom I loved. Now, it’s easier to keep up the charade. Easier to keep pretending. But it gets tiring, is it not?_

_What?_

_You, Merlin._

_Me?_

_It has always been you. I love you. I loved you once, I still love you now._

 

\---

 

The second time he told me he loved me was under the bright, warm sun – his eyes were bright and his voice was resigned and he held on to my hand with the palm of his hand, tender and firm. I found that I do believe him.


End file.
